“And this is some more clover,” she murmured later, as, robed in a little nainsook gown, she stretched out luxuriously between lavender scented sheets. “I don’t care what may come later. I know that I am going to have a real sleep.”
It was five o’clock in the afternoon when she awoke. On the chair by her bed was a change of clothing, a pair of white tennis shoes, a dark blue skirt, a white middy and a red tie.
“Oh!” she thought. “The kind of clothes I love.”
She hastened to dress partially, then slipped on a little negligee and began to do her hair.
“I wish it would sometimes go twice in the same place,” she thought ruefully. “I never can fix it as I like. It’s the only thing that ever got the better of me except Kind Kurt. Well!” with an impatient shake of her rebellious locks, “go crop-cut, if you insist. I can’t help it.”
Mrs. Kingdon smiled when the little girlish figure opened the door in response to her knock.
“I felt sure that that outfit, which was left here by my fifteen-year-old niece when she last visited us, would fit you, though Kurt insists that you are twenty. You had a nice sleep, didn’t you?”
“I think I never really slept before. Such a bed, and such heavenly quiet! So different from street-car racket.”
“My husband and the boys have been away all day, or there wouldn’t have been such quiet. Dinner is ready. Kurt didn’t tell me your name.”
“Penelope Lamont. My first name is always shortened to Pen or Penny.”